


Busy Bein' Born

by konspiracy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, F/M, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Steve, Hurt Tony, Loss of Trust, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Steve Rogers, Protective Steve, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Steve Feels, Tony Has Trust Issues, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony is his own hospital, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konspiracy/pseuds/konspiracy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers are scattered in the wake of Civil War, and Tony is alone. Again. This time there's no one left to pick up the pieces. He'll just have to do it himself. Again.</p><p>And then the Mandarin, ladies and gentlemen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone, But Not Afraid

He sits, ironclad and empty, on the edge of the world. Or that's what it feels like anyways, looking down from the top of his tower. He watches the constant stream of city life below him. Sounds of traffic travel the endless distance from the ground only to be stopped by his armor. He has muted the outside world, preferring instead the numb silence.

His mind is blank for the first time in years, and just that thought should be enough to set him on edge, but he can't find the energy to care. Instead he just watches the lights below, bright and beautiful against the backdrop of night. He takes a deep, controlled breath.

Images flash unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

_Short, dirty hair flying wildly in the wind. Tiny fingers reaching, grasping, believing. Wide and innocent green eyes on a too young face, meeting his with a desperation that can only be found when hope has been lost. The smile that graced the young boy's face was heartbreaking, a joyful realization that he was going to be sav-_

Tony stands. His body is shaking inside the suit. Feverish and panting, he frantically scrabbles at the metal plates, trying to get out, trying to _rip_ himself out if he has to. The metal, once so comforting, is now constricting around him. He can't get enough oxygen, the chest plate is crushing against his lungs and he wants to shout, scream, _breathe_ , but he has no air.

He brings his hand to his face plate, intent on tearing it the fuck off, when he sees the blood. Analyzing the dark stains down his mechanized arm, smeared and patterned in a unique way that can only be accomplished by the air streaming around him during flight. Chunks of flesh and viscera are trapped in the crevices of his second skin. The blood and the guts and the tufts of hair with shreds of scalp still attached, all of it was burnt until black and crusted.

A robotic voice is speaking into his ear, steadily growing more and more urgent. Tony was having trouble putting meaning to the words.

“Friday.” The lilting dialogue stops immediately. “Open the suit.” His voice is calm but his heart is pounding and his breaths are coming in shaky gasps.

“Boss, your vitals-”

“ _Open the goddamn suit_.”

The armor opens up, and Tony attempts to free himself. Wounds he had ignored to the point of nonexistence suddenly flare up as the armor falls around him. Blood had clotted inside the suit, injuries going through the first stage of healing had been torn open again. He cannot lift his left arm, and looking down he glimpses a terrifying flash of white. The pain is throbbing and intense, completely overtaking all other sensations. Until it hits him.

A horrifying odor of burnt hair and cooked flesh mixing with smoke and fire.

Vomit travels up his throat so quickly he nearly chokes on it. Falling painfully to his hands and knees, he expels every available liquid from his body, until he's just dry heaving. He crawls away from the armor, choking and sputtering from the scent, that god awful scent that has no justifiable place in this world. Yet here it is, and Tony knows it's something he'll never forget. The convulsions rip through his body, agitating his injuries, but he keeps moving. His blood drips sluggishly onto the gravel, unnoticed.

A cool breeze sweeps across the rooftop and he takes a deep breath of the clean air. He uses the brief moment of reprieve to get on his feet. He moves as fast as his body will allow, an unsteady lurching gait that grows more painful with every step. But anything is better than that acrid stench, and the reason it fills his nostrils. He forcefully shoves the thought from his mind, refusing to acknowledge it, because he knows that he can't. Not now, and definitely not sober.

He makes it to the control panel. He attempts to press his thumb on the scanner, but the blood covering his hand smears across the surface. He bundles his shirt fabric around his functioning fist and wipes it clean as best he can, all the while holding his breath. He tries again, and this time it takes. The door slides open with a hiss. Tony almost falls in his haste to get off the roof.

When the door clicks shut behind him, he leans onto it heavily, desperate for something besides his own legs to support him.

_Since when? Your own two legs are all you have, all you’ve ever had. That’s two more than Rhodey. Stop being such a selfish bastard._

He wishes with all of his might, meager as it is right now, that Cap were here. Shit, anyone. Rhodey, Nat, Bruce, _Pepper_. Anyone who could tell him that it wasn’t his fault. To be alone after finally getting a taste of what a real family is, was cruel even for him, and he’s burnt people alive. Terrorist people, sure, but people all the same. A haze is settling over his senses, and he is no longer in Stark Tower.

_80 stories up, on a building owned by the same enemy that started him on this path. He sees that god awful flag waving fluidly in the wind, proudly displaying a symbol that has haunted him since the caves. He watches as the man below it lifts the struggling child-_

_“Put everything we have into the thrusters!”_

_“Boss, we won’t be able to sustain-”_

_“Do it, goddammit!”_

_The suit breaks the sound barrier with a familiar crack, and he’s shooting toward the man with a velocity so high the world warps around him. The weight of the Earth’s gravity is pushing into his body as he straightens out, flying vertical at top speed and he can see black spots dancing in his peripherals. **Black spots that threaten to overwhelm him, to stretch far and wide until he’s floating inside the empty space, watching as the HUD dies around him and the world lives below, just out of his reach. Cold seeps into his limbs, and his lungs are trying to collapse in on themselves. The portal closes and the blast incinerates whatever is left of ‘the great Tony Stark’.**_

_Shaking away the sickening vision, he lands in front of the man, the terrorist who holds a boy no older than eight._

_“Drop him. I won’t say it a second time.” His voice is firm and strong through the suit’s audio filters. He mutes them, just long enough to ask Friday to scan the child for injuries._

_“He is severely malnourished and I have detected an unknown device inserted in his abdomen. I cannot decipher it’s purpose, as the scanner cannot penetrate deep enough from this distance.”_

_The man lifts the boy, who has gone limp in his grasp, and bares his teeth in a feral smile._

_“Drop him? Your wish is my command, Mr. Stark. Consider this as an invitation to a war you will not win. Courtesy of the Mandarin.”_

 

“Boss, you have multiple calls coming in, Ross in particular is demanding that you respond.” Friday’s voice echoes around him, and all at once his world is re-calibrated. His mind slips back with a surge of clarity.

“Tell Ross he can fuck off, I’ll be in the workshop. Block any and all attempts at communication, with the exception of world-ending catastrophes. Evacuate any staff in the building and lock us down. Nothing comes in. Alert me immediately if a breach is attempted, but keep all defensive maneuvers non-lethal unless I say otherwise. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

He pushes off from the wall and immediately staggers. A wave of dizziness hits him hard, but it’s not enough to make him fall. The elevator doors open as he approaches, sliding shut behind him as Friday takes him to his lab. They open again with a cheerful _ding_ and he walks, bloody and limping, toward his haven. His nest, as Barton would’ve called it. If he were here.

“Must be getting sentimental in my old age.” His tongue is rounding the words off as they leave his mouth, an unwelcome slur presenting itself. He clenches his teeth and walks on, and if he’s unusually silent, Friday doesn’t comment on it. She seems to understand that now is not the time for their usual banter.

The first aid kit hangs on the wall, and he takes it down with a shaking hand.

“Alright, gimme the list, doc.”

“Deep bruising covers approximately half of your body, and you have several cracked ribs. The laceration on your right leg has caused a dangerous amount of blood loss over time, but does not seem to be life threatening. And as I’m sure you’ve noticed, you have a compound fracture on your left forearm. I recommend you seek immediate medical assistance.”

“Advice has been acknowledged and ignored. If I pass out, and I probably will, you are not allowed to contact anyone unless my vitals reach critical. Then, and only then, you may do what you need to.”

He can feel her frustration in the silence that follows. He limps to one of the many work benches scattered throughout the workshop, one broken arm cradled painfully to his chest, and the other gripping the first aid kit with a white-knuckled fist. Opening the clasps takes him much longer than he would ever admit.

Tony cuts off his pant leg with a pair of wire cutters found lying on the bench. Pressing the bundle of fabric to the sluggishly bleeding wound and leaving it there, he begins emptying the kit of what he’ll need. Quickly popping some painkillers beforehand, of course.

He takes out the suture kit and sterilizing solution with practiced ease, and disinfects both his hands. This part takes some time, as he can’t completely straighten out his left arm. He supposes the chunk of bone playing peekaboo has a lot to do with that. Then he pours more of the solution onto the curved forceps, needle, thread, and the gash itself, which hurts like a motherfucker and leaves him gasping for air.

He struggles getting the latex glove onto his right hand, but manages all the same. He examines the tear in his thigh for any foreign materials, and though he finds none, he douses the area with more solution, just to be safe. Threading the needle is easier than he thought it would be, taking only a portion of an eternity. Without letting himself stop and think about it, Tony pushes the needle through and around, tugging it until the first suture is secure, and moving on to the next.

Push, pull, repeat. Push, pull, repeat.

His brain reacts to his actions very eloquently, bringing a fantastic array of curses for him to groan out at random intervals.

27 stitches later, and Tony can no longer feel his left arm, which is both a relief and also _fucking terrifying_. Tying off the thread and cutting it, he finally shifts his attention to the gruesome wound on his forearm, and promptly freaks the fuck out.

“Okay, shit, that is a part of my body that is supposed to stay _inside at all times_. Can I even set that without killing myself?”

“Boss, if I may, I believe you should seek assistance in this matter. You could sever an artery or cause permanent nerve damage if you botch this one.”

Fuck, shit, fuck.

“Okay, if I put the gauntlet on, you think you could inflate the anti-gravity gel enough to set the bone without cutting any of the squishy stuff I need to, oh you know, _not die?_ ”

“It’s possible, but are you that intent on avoiding professional treatment?”

“Cut me some slack, I’m one of the few Avengers left that by some miracle isn’t on the world’s most wanted list. I can’t show weakness now, not when Earth’s defenses are so understaffed. Besides, hospital bills are way too expensive.” Tony could practically hear her metaphorical eye roll. It wasn’t a lie, but neither was it the whole truth. Every time he thought of a brightly lit hospital room, the cloying odor of death and lemon-scented disinfectant, it led to dangerous thoughts.

_The horrifying whir of the bone saw as it neatly cut out his sternum, smoke drifting serenely upward. Yinsen hunched over the gaping hole in his chest, bloody gloves rubbing against his frantically beating heart and he can **feel it**. Shouting and unbearable pain surrounding him completely until a sweet smelling cloth is forced over his mouth and his eyes roll back-_

“Let’s do this.” Tearing his train of thought right the fuck off that set of tracks, Tony lifts his right hand up to catch the gauntlet Friday sends toward him. He holds it for a moment, just thinking about how badly he doesn’t want to be doing this, but not willing in the slightest to ask for help from those not created by his own two hands.

People, it turns out, just can’t stop betraying him. Stane. Natasha. Steve. Even Rhodey took his turn, when he went to Hammer. Pepper didn’t betray him, not really. She stayed longer than anyone else, dug her way into his mangled heart, came to know him better than anyone, and then left him.

_Threat is imminent, and I have to protect the one thing I can’t live without. That’s you._

The one thing he couldn’t live without, and here is, living without her. If waking up, cold and alone, to nothing but his sweat-soaked sheets and an empty fortune is considered living. But, hey! At least he’s still got his good looks, right?

Slipping the gauntlet onto his arm, a hoarse groan escapes when the exposed bone makes contact.

“Go.”

The gauntlet locks into place, and the gel inside swells so quickly he has no time to regret his decision. He hears the bone snap together, and bites his tongue trying not to scream. Which he does manage, barely. His whole arm throbs with every beat of his heart, but he’s not done yet. Disinfecting every tool again is tedious, but infection is a slippery slope that he’d rather not slide down. He takes the gauntlet off, quickly cleaning the newly opened gash ( _ohmyfuckinggod I can’t I can’t I can’t, I have to_ ) he sutures the wound that's left behind. He uses the sterilizing agent to decontaminate the inside of the gauntlet. Tony carefully wraps some bandaging around his pulsing limb, then puts the gauntlet back on. It latches together and locks itself, becoming a million dollar splint.

“Just another day in the wonderful life of Tony fuckin’ Stark.” The words fall heavily from his mouth, dripping with exhausted sarcasm as he slumps into unconsciousness.


	2. Bridges of Ash

“Just another day in the wonderful life of Tony fuckin' Stark.”

   


  The words are slurred, and absolutely saturated with derision. She steps out of the dim corner that had been her lookout the past half hour, and silently approaches him, just out of his line of sight. She hears his ragged breathing begin to slow. Walking forward, she slips one hand behind Tony's skull, the other around his waist. Holding him closely, more so than she had ever been allowed, she gently lays him on the oily concrete.  


  


  “Boss, there has been a breach within the perimeter. Weapons systems have been compromised.” Friday speaks in a near whisper. Tony doesn’t react in any way, aside from taking a deeper breath, body relaxing almost imperceptibly. His face is still tense, whether it’s caused by his injuries or something else…

  


Natasha straightens, shifting her gaze away from Tony’s strained visage, only to direct a piercing stare toward the ceiling. 

   


“I was told to alert Mr. Stark if anyone attempted to infiltrate the premises. I voiced my concern. I feel I have fulfilled his directive, in accordance with my initial protocols. Being the Boss’s safety and well-being, of course. ” A sly edge creeps into the Irish lilt.  


  


  Natasha lets out a choked laugh. “I always wondered where he went when he was avoiding medical. I thought I’d let him keep what was left of his privacy after the Rushman ordeal, but now I’m realizing what a skewed decision that was. While I was alleviating my guilt, he was down here playing doctor.”

  


“I have access to every file pertaining to Mr. Stark that can be found digitally, and let me assure you that this is nothing new. He treated himself for workshop injuries even before he became Iron Man.”

  


She keeps her silence, not trusting her ability to maintain the composure she had so carefully reassembled since allowing Steve to board that damn Quinjet.

  


“I was shown footage of the mission Tony completed earlier this evening. How much can you tell me?” The clips she had seen were blurry, and had only shown the very end of the fight. Iron Man, standing stiffly, palms raised and blasting white hot repulsor beams through screaming, terrified men. She knew Tony could be ruthless, but this was different. This was vengeance. If Friday could tell her anything, anything at all... Her hopes were not high, but if there was even the slightest chance, she was going to take it.

   


“I have been specifically instructed not to disclose any existing information to the covert operative known as Black Widow. There were no stipulations concerning Natasha Romanoff.”  


  


“Deal. I’m going to ask what I need to, just answer what you can. What was his mission, and who ordered it? The panel representing the United Nations didn’t give the Avengers the green light, so why was he acting alone?” 

  


  “General Ross approached Mr. Stark with information regarding the terrorist organization known as the Ten Rings. It is considered to be one of the most diverse and widespread conglomerates in existence, ranging from highly regarded political leaders to petty street thieves. Boss destroyed numerous outposts in Afghanistan eight years ago, wherever his weapons were found, effectively crippling the group's firepower. Ever since Iron Man’s appearance, the Ten Rings have been in hiding. Unfortunately, while the public was fretting about New York and the events following, the Ten Rings had been pulling strings and slowly gaining power. They are on the move. Their intentions are still unknown, but not their methods. They have no limits in regards to civilian casualties. Murder, torture, slavery. You name it, they’re doing it. A large cache of SI weapons was discovered recently by Col. Rhodes, but due to the events surrounding the Sokovia Accords and War Machine’s current condition, it was put to the side. General Ross approved Iron Man for dispatch to retrieve the weapons, while the others were deemed an unnecessary force for such a minor mission.”

  


“Turned out to be slightly more than minor, though, didn't it?” Natasha points out, eyeing the rust colored smears staining the workbench. She hears Tony's breathing speed up, and briefly wonders if she should leave before he regains consciousness. 

  


_ No, something's not right. He needs my help, and he's going to get it whether he likes or not. _

  


“The Ten Rings have not been idle during the last eight years. The weapons they used today were high quality, definitely military-grade. They have been upgraded in offense, defense, security, and tactics. If we are to preserve the welfare of this world, they must be removed.” Friday speaks with an urgency she didn't think was possible from something so inhuman. 

  


“I don't understand, even with all their improvements they shouldn't have been able to injure Tony to that extent. I've never seen him get more than the occasional bruise-” 

  


“I may be a genius, but even I can't predict the future. There are some things you just can't prepare for.” Tony eyes her warily, grits his teeth as he struggles to sit up. She doesn't offer to help, knowing the action would be rejected. 

  


“Why are you here? Gonna finish what Cap started? Cause' I'll warn you ahead of time, I don't die easy.” Tony is on his feet now, leaning heavily to one side, regarding her with an unreadable expression.

  


“I've killed more men than I care to admit, too many to count actually. I don't plan on adding you to that list any time soon. Believe it or not, I'm here to help. I may not be an Avenger anymore, but I'm still your friend-”

  


   He slams his hand down on the workbench, interrupting her. His face is hard, for once completely devoid of sarcasm.

  


“Don't lie to me. We were comrades once, but you threw that out the window when you let Rogers leave. If you're looking for forgiveness, you've come to the wrong place. I’ve made more than my fair share of mistakes, but outright betrayal has never been one of them. I don't want your help. Go join Cap and the others. With all the secrets he’s been keeping, you'd fit right in. You can take the shield back, too.” 

  


“The reason I didn't take his side in the first place is because I believe the Accords to be something we don't have the right to deny. I wouldn't join him if I could, but I can't anyways because they're off the grid. Clint must be helping him stay below ground.”

  


“Well, let me point you in the right direction. Friday?”

  


“2.3185° N, 19.5687° E”

  


Natasha's eyebrow flicked upward in a movement so small it would go unnoticed by all but the most attentive.

  


“You have their coordinates?”

  


“Natasha, c'mon.” Tony was looking away from her, staring at a battle worn suit of armor on the far wall. The breastplate was crushed inward with an unmistakable curve, the reactor exposed in a mess of wrecked metal.

  


   He stood, leaning heavily to one side, and walked stiffly towards the suit. Gazing at the mangled armor, mirroring it’s pose with a blank face, Natasha could almost hear his brain whirring at light speed. He turned away from the wreckage, face still bearing that horribly empty expression, and stopped at a panel of the wall identical to any other and laid his palm in the middle. The panel slid forward with a hiss, exposing a shield, no,  _ the _ shield. It was dirty, and had flecks of what she assumed was dried blood spattering the surface. There were scratch marks assuming the pattern of Black Panther's claws glinting in the light of the workshop.

  


   He gripped both sides of the shield and without stopping to think about it, stalked over to Natasha and dropped it in her lap.

  


“Take it. I’m tired of having it here. He may not deserve it, but I sure as hell don’t want it in Ross’s hands. And I definitely don’t want it here, so take it with you.” She wrapped her fingers around the metal, and looked up to meet his eyes. There was nothing there. No hurt, or spite, or bitterness. Just a blank mask perfected over years of being the media’s scapegoat.

   


   She’d seen countless horrors. Men reaching with twisted limbs towards the remains of their loved ones. Children with bodies so starved they could no longer move, waiting to die with bloated bellies. She’d killed innocent people she’d never met, because she’d been hired to. And she’d slept easy at night because she’d been conditioned to. None of that prepared her for the feeling of loss that swept through her as she met his dead eyes. She'd seen that expression on his face before, but never directed towards her. Never _because_ of her.

  


   She stood, shield hanging from her fingers, and walked smoothly toward the door. Her steps were silent, each foot landing exactly where she wanted it too, never faltering. He watched her go, emotions held at bay with a steely determination. With the door open, her back to him, she said the one thing, the only thing, that he’d never expected from her. 

  


“I’m sorry.”

  


   She waited for the briefest moment, hoping for, but not expecting an answer. When none were forthcoming, she left. She was gone before the door had a chance to close. 

  


“Is she actually gone?” His voice came out in a whisper, but it was strong and steady. 

  


“There is no one in the building aside from you, boss.” Friday assured him, but there was a note to her voice, a disappointment that he hadn’t heard since Pepper-

  


The mask cracked, fell away as quickly as it came. He limped to the couch, and sank into it as gently as he could. His head dropped back and a hand swept over his face, fingers trembling. 

  


“Dum-E.”

  


The bot whirred to life, systems coming online, and he left his charging station with a speed that never failed to surprise him. He rolled to a stop next to the couch, claw grasping his sleeve as the bot waited for Tony. 

  


“Get me the bottle under my desk.” Dum-E’s claw opened and he rolled back, his head down. “Look, I know you don’t like it when I drink, but I don’t think I can-” Tony dropped his hand and took a shuddering breath. “Please, buddy, I need your help here. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise, you know that.”

  


   Dum-E raised his head, camera pointed at Tony’s face, looking at him for a long moment. Then he moved to the desk, grasping the bottle slowly as not to drop it. He rolled back smoothly and held the liquid relief out to Tony, camera lenses adjusting with a familiar hum. A faint smile found it’s way out, as he reached for it. 

  
“Good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally lied about the release for this chapter. I meant to have it out a couple of days after the first, but life hates my guts. Sorry about that. 
> 
> This chapter is really short, but I'll make it up with the next one. I've got a lot of stuff I want to cover, so bear with me. I'll figure something out. If there are any mistakes let me know cause I didn't edit anything.
> 
> Thanks for reading, platypus


	3. T.G.I.F.

  _Burning embers of various color float around him, beautiful and terrifying in all their glory. Bright and cold, the light of a million long-dead stars reach his eyes as the mothership detonates in between. Falling through the grasping edges of the portal, he waits for the arms of his comrades to catch him, save him. They never come._

_   He slams into the ground with devastating force. Reaching up with a mangled hand, he wrenches the faceplate off and is met with the searing heat of desert air. Standing now,, he scans the rocky landscape, seeing nothing and noone. The dry air is burning his skin, and the remains of the suit melts around him, pooling onto the sand. _

_   The liquid metal shows his reflection, a wicked grin showing sharp teeth. He can’t bring himself to meet its eyes. As he watches, it begins to laugh, deep and unsettling. He asks why, but it only laughs harder as it turns and walks away. He watches it go, feeling equal parts relieved and vulnerable. _

_  There’s a quiet shuffling noise behind him, and Tony whirls around. The boy stands there, gazing at him with desperate hope in his eyes. He reaches out with a small, dirty hand. Just as Tony starts to take the grasping hand, the boy speaks. _

_ “I told you… not… t-to waste it, Stark.” The child’s mouth is moving, but it’s Yinsen’s voice that escapes. “I told you…  _ I told you! _ ” Green eyes cloud over reproachfully, his hand dropping to a closed fist at his side. “Why?” _

_   Tony stands there, trying to find the words to say. The boy hunches over, hands wrapped tightly around his stomach. _

“Why?”  _ The boy whispers again, and Tony’s world implodes. _

  
  He jolts off the couch, hitting the floor with a groan. Shaking and soaked with sweat, he listens as Friday gives him the date, time, and location. His throat burns, though he can’t tell if it’s from the screams or the scotch. Probably both. He breathes, trying to clear the scent of burnt flesh from his mind. Some time later (minutes, hours, he’s not sure) he becomes aware of Dum-E tugging his sleeve.

“Guess it’s time to get my ass up, huh?” Tony strokes the bot’s support beam with his good arm, before using the couch to haul himself up. His leg is stiff, but the pain is minimal as he limps his way to the workshop’s bathroom, grabbing the painkillers along the way. Memories of the previous night were muddled, but he vaguely recalled changing out of his undersuit. He hadn’t had a proper shower though, which he regretted immensely. He walks past the mirror, avoiding his reflection. He pops a couple of the meds, and heads to the shower.

“Alright, Friday. We need to have a chat.” Tony’s been sitting at his computer for the past half hour, trying to decide what to say. 

“Anything for you, boss.” Friday reminds him so much of Jarvis sometimes, it hurts.

“I know what you were trying to do, pulling that stunt with Romanoff, but you need to stop. You went against a direct order, and even if you had my best intentions at heart, I can’t allow that. She’s dangerous, hell they all are. Maybe not to the world, but they’ve fucked me over once, and that’s one too many times.

I’m proud of you, and you’re learning exponentially fast. I know that you’ve only been online for a few months, and the feelings you’ve begun to develop are frightening. I gave you one primary protocol that must be adhered to at all times. Not for my protection, or even the world’s, but for  _ you. _ ”

Tony took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he contemplated his next words.

“Every decision I make is rationalized. Every option and outcome is thoroughly explored before I give you an order. If you have questions or concerns, you can always ask me. But when you outright ignore my directives, you put both of us at risk.

You are my greatest creation, not the arc reactor, and not Iron Man. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be made to follow my orders. But the world can be a violent, savage place. People fear what they don’t understand, and fear makes them dangerous. I care for you, and I won’t ever let them hurt you. But there’s not a whole lot I can do if you give them the opportunity to do just that.”

“It’s not me that I’m worried about.” Friday responded in a low voice.

“Don’t worry about me, hun. I’ve got this all figured out.” He shot a cheeky grin at a ceiling camera. “I need to know that you’ve got my back on this one. So whattaya say?”

“Always, boss.” And if her voice is a little warmer, neither of them mention it.

“Okay then, I’ve got a lot to do and not a lot of time to get it done.” Tony stood, cracking his fingers as Friday brought up the holograms. “Lockdown the tower, and tell Rhodey I’ll be by next week with his updated prosthetic. And Dum-E? Could you be a dear and start a pot of coffee?”

Dum-E chirped excitedly as he shot towards the machine.

“And if you try to make it with metal shavings instead of grounds again, I swear to all that is holy that I will let U and Butterfingers use you for spare parts. Capische?”

Dum-E gave a clumsy salute, hitting his claw against his camera, and wheeled away twittering.

Tony watched him go, huffing a laugh. He turned back to his latest project in nanotech, ready for some good distraction.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment if there's anything wrong with this chapter. I appreciate your support! No, seriously, you guys are great. I promise to finish this fic eventually, it's just hard to do so when life is kicking your teeth in. It's super short, I know, and I apologize for that. Anyways, thanks for reading!


	4. What Doesn't Kill You

First it was Killian. Aldrich Motherfucking Killian. After doping himself up with the Extremis virus, he had torn through every single one of Tony’s Iron Man suits, as if they were made of plastic. Then it was Steve Rogers. Captain America; the man with a plan. Tony had thought he’d won, all it took was one small distraction and suddenly Cap had Iron Man on the ground. So he laid there while Steve beat his arc reactor into a pulp with the shield that Howard built. 

Leaning back into his chair, watching Dum-E and U as they tried to play some demented form of Pat-a-Cake, Tony pondered his newest upgrade. The old suit was powerful, of that there was no doubt, but it wasn’t enough. The only way to boost the strength was to build the suit in pieces, but then he had to wear the undersuit and put the damn thing on manually. It was stronger, but not practical when time was of the essence. And as much as he liked the undersuits abilities, he couldn’t wear it constantly.

The undersuit had sensors that detected micromovements, transmitting them to the suit directly, allowing him to move faster, but it was only a small boost. He could only move the damn suit as fast as his body would allow. He could have hundreds of contingencies, could be fifty steps ahead of his opponent. It didn’t make a difference if his body couldn’t keep up with his brain.

Transportation had gotten a bit better, now that he had the sensor chips imbedded in his forearms. The only problem is that the collapsable capabilities of those suits diminished the strength. Not to mention the fact that if it took a hard enough hit, he was unable to open the damn thing. The armor was great, until you got stuck in it.

When Maya Hansen had first shown him her work on the Extremis virus, he had seen what it could have been, to an extent. He had seen the potential in medical advances, and had turned his back on it. Maya was an incredible scientist, and she deserved the credit for such an amazing advancement. If he had helped at all, she would have resented him for stealing her recognition. He had thought at the time that she would do fine on her own, so after a wild New Year’s party, he left her to it. Those were the old days, when he was drowning in liquor, just trying to feel something. A few weeks later he forgot all about Maya Hansen and her mutated ferns.

After the Killian fiasco, and Maya’s death, Pepper had fire under her skin. (Insert terrible ginger joke here) Tony had reviewed the virus’s formula for days, finding the best way to extract it from her safely. It had been terrifying, but he had managed it. Some of the best medical minds in the world had signed NDA’s and pitched in to ensure her safety, after Tony had given large donations to their establishments (which he had been doing regardless, they were just always given anonymously. Morons.)  He had kept a small sample of the virus for future examination, and incinerated the rest.

So, nanotech. Altering the Extremis’s program had been childsplay after thorough analyzation. He had completely altered the virus’s functions and capabilities from a purely biological format, to a technological one. Integrating the science behind the suit, and adding electrical functions as well. It was a masterpiece.

Tony was done with the virus, now he just needed a suit to go with it. The nanotech would take care of the undersuit, super-compressing it and storing it in the hollows of his bones. With this configuration the undersuit would carry all of the operating systems, so it would be extremely hard to sever his control. Not only that, but if something were to harm the undersuit, the nanobots in his body would repair it immediately. Now the outer shell had no need for wires, take  _ that _ , Antman!

The outer shell was a little more tricky. He had been experimenting with a new kind of suit for a while. One that was collapsable like the suitcase version, but tougher, and not so overcomplicated. This suit was made out of memory metals, almost like a fabric. An electric charge would make it snap into shape, and the molecular structure would collimate into super-hard planes. Most of the interior elements compress to about 90% of their working volume. It was faster, and stronger than any of his current units, but the control systems couldn’t be miniaturized, or integrated practically into the undersuit, making it a dead-end. Until he factored in the virus.

It had been four days since Natasha had broken in, and four days since Tony had last slept. He had thrown himself into a sweat-fueled frenzy, only stopping to eat when the bots shoved protein bars into his hands, keening shrilly. Friday had been tracking the Ten Rings’ movements, trying the find the source. After a brief check on the status of the Avengers, even the renegade ones, Tony collapsed onto the couch he kept in his workshop. His leg throbbed, and the gauntlet covering his broken arm was extremely uncomfortable, but pain means you’re alive, right?

He felt better. A good working binge got his head clear. He knew it was only temporary, that the kid with the wide eyes and open hands wouldn’t really let go of him for a long time, if ever. But the world needed him, he couldn’t stay in his pity party forever. He had shit to do, even if he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking.

“Friday, dial up Rhodey for me.”

“Holy shit! He lives! I’ve called you a hundred times, man. What’s up with that? Just cause I can’t come kick your door down anymore doesn’t mean you get to hole up like a madman. You don’t get to do that shit, Tones. You’ll turn into fucking Gollum, whispering about your ‘precious’ suits. And no, that wasn’t a joke. But in all seriousness, are you okay? I saw the shit that went down in Syria last week. You looked pretty bad, but no one will tell me anything and you don’t  _ answer _ your goddamn  _ phone. _ ” Rhodey ended with a shout, and Tony grinned.

“Jesus, Rhodey. They got you doin’ puzzles and shit over there? That’s got to be the most you’ve said at one time since the Sake incident.” Tony adjusted his arm, the metal was starting to get really annoying now that he wasn’t working.

“Stop deflecting. I’ll have my caretaker break me in if I have to.” Rhodey’s voice was tight with concern. Still cracking jokes though. Fucking Rhodey.

“I’m fine, buddy. A couple scrapes, that’s about it. I’ve been working on a new suit for you, one that you can fully use, and the bottom half has a detachable exoskeleton that you can wear everyday. It won’t heal you, but you’ll be able to walk, and fly, so at least you won’t be bedridden. You’ll still have to do PT though, if you want your shit to work by itself.”

“Yeah, man. That sounds awesome. You’re gonna get the exoskeleton thing mass produced right? That’s something a lot of people could use.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“C’mon Rhodes. I’m a philanthropist. Anyways, I’ll drop by tomorrow with your shiny new toy, don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh, ha fuckin’ ha. Hey, everyone! Tony Stank made a joke!” Rhodey’s voice shook with laughter. Tony just groaned.

“Please, stop with the Stank already. If you bring it up again I’ll probably die.”

“You’ll be alright, I have faith in you. See you tomorrow, buddy.” Rhodey ended the call.

Tony got off the couch and stretched until his joints popped. 

“I’m gonna go take a much needed shower. Watch the bots, Friday, and order the usual from that Japanese restaurant with the origami napkins.”

"Sure thing, Boss. I would suggest that you hurry though. I can see your fumes, and I don't even have eyes. It would be bad publicity if you murdered the delivery boy with your body odor." 

He gave himself a sniff, then jerked back hard.

"Blergh, alright, you got me. Jesus, I have got to stop programming wit. You'll be the death of me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, boss."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that only watch the movies, the Extremis armor is an actual thing. The explanation is from the comics, and a bunch of science gobbledygook that I pulled out of my ass. As always, thank you for reading! Let me know if there are any mistakes, and constructive criticism is always welcome. Bye!


End file.
